


Rainbow Connection

by aijee



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe – Modern Setting, Crack, M/M, Meet-Cute, exactly what it says on the tin susan, gratuitous thirst, more like Meet-Awkward amirite folks, weather-related curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 02:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aijee/pseuds/aijee
Summary: “You,” Wonwoo manages to get out. “Are you the one doing the rain thing? Outside?”Attached to a tall, ten mile-legged chap is a pair of eyes that stare back at Wonwoo like he’d recited the words of the second coming of Jesus. The eyes—godthey’re dark—are wide, unblinking, filtering through a million and one emotions with every passing second and Wonwoo can recognize all of them because he’s feeling the exact same way.The guy looks out. It’s not raining anymore. In fact, it’s clear, just like any normal day.He looks back.“I, I, uh,” the guy splutters.Tan?Wonwoo blearily notes. “Are you— the sun thing, um—"Or: Sunshine follows Wonwoo. Rainstorms follow Mingyu. When they meet, chaos, and maybe love (or something), ensues.





	Rainbow Connection

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the manga “kuchizuke wa niji no ue de”, and my apparent affinity for convenience stores and precipitation tropes.
> 
> It started out wholesome, I swear. (**Mildly sexual themes ahead.** Also swearing lol bc I write like I speak.) Enjoy!

“A rose must remain with the sun and the rain  
Or its lovely promise won't come true.”

Lyrics by Ray Evans, “To Each His Own”

* * *

The moment Wonwoo’s mother popped him out, Seoul had experienced one of the clearest, sunniest days in its history. If Mother Nature was actually a person with eyes, she wouldn’t believe it.

The moment Mingyu let out his first cry, an entire ocean had been upended on the streets for a week. Balance in the cosmos or Bad Shit Happens, probably.

When Wonwoo and Mingyu meet, the irony had never been more evident.

That’s not to say that Wonwoo is miserable, or a shut-in, or a deplorably unproductive member of society leeching off his parents’ money despite being perfectly capable of living on his own. Mrs. Jeon’s iron fist didn’t raise no irresponsible fool.

This is also not to say that Mingyu is always happy, or rescuing cats from trees, or emanating natural sugar highs and warmth from his body like some living Power Puff Girl heater. Mrs. Kim didn’t raise no overly-optimistic, thin-skinned softie, either.

But to alternatively think of Mingyu as torrential is just factually incorrect, and to call Wonwoo the embodiment of sunshine is…a bit of a stretch.

It’s hard for Wonwoo to judge his condition particularly malicious. How can a shadow made of sunshine and clear skies be something to dislike?

“The state of your structural integrity is concerning,” Soonyoung comments at least every other week in varying iterations. He narrows his eyes at Wonwoo’s layered homage to Mr. Game & Watch.

“I’m fine,” Wonwoo grinds out despite, surprise, not actually being fine with so much perspiration in all of his crevices. _All_ of them.

And Mingyu, well, he did have several reservations about his situation at first—

“_Mom_, this is the fifth umbrella already!”

“Here’s a sixth, honey.”

—but it’s not so bad. If both mothers can bear the throes of birthing not one, but two little humans and then raise them into bigger (and bigger) humans, surely Wonwoo and Mingyu can handle some benign little weather problems.

If they didn't, they probably wouldn't have met. Or maybe they would regardless. Magic and curses and love are tricky things to figure out—just like the weather.

“What’s…that?”

“What’s what?”

“Water. Sky. Falling.”

“That’s rain, dude.”

Wonwoo can’t even muster a snipe.

Not because he doesn’t have the vocabulary. (God knows _that’s_ not a problem.) He knows what the hell rain is. He just didn’t…he didn’t expect to ever see it in person.

That sounded less stupid in his head.

“Oh yeah,” Jun says with a disingenuous yawn and ambiguous hand gesture. “I forgot that you have…that.”

“Yes. That,” Wonwoo echoes, clipped. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to rain before.”

“Didn’t you go to his concert?”

“Please tell me you’re just _acting_ stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

Wonwoo pinches the skin between his brows. So this is how his day is going to be. Why did he invite Jun to the convenience store anyway?

Oh, right— “Let’s just get the toothpaste and chips already. Honey butter, right? We have fifteen minutes before Soonyoung starts blowing up the group chat.”

“Didn’t Jihoon get his phone fixed?”

“Exactly.”

“Right. Fuck.”

“Right fuck is right,” Wonwoo says, shoving Jun into the bagged snack aisle.

As Jun pores over the options, Wonwoo looks at the glass panes of the convenience store storefront and, for the briefest moment, considers walking outside. He considers dropping everything right now and just running into the world beyond those doors because, for the past twenty-something years of his life, Wonwoo has never known what it’s like to sing in the rain, or to escape from his feelings into a rainstorm, or to run into someone’s arms in a music-backed sky shower the way it always happens in the shitty romance movies he won’t admit to binging at 2am.

Wonwoo considers going outside, god knows he does—

“Found the chips! Oh, no, these are eggs.”

—but decides not to.

“How the hell do you confuse chips with eggs?” Wonwoo asks in an attempt at snark but ends up sneaking in more endearment than planned. Must be the novelty of the rain.

In the midst of teaching Jun the hierarchal organization of convenience store snack shelves to an unnecessary degree of detail (“Important life skills,” is the insistence), Wonwoo doesn’t even hear the door of the store open with its signature jingle, the one that seems to greet customers, _Salutations, honored guest, your money is always welcome here._

“I swear I saw some bright sunshine over here.”

“I’m tired of this, can we just—”

“_No_, I swear I saw it! We’ll get some ice cream and go back to searching.”

“Minghao.”

“I am ice-cold incarnate, motherfucker, the puppy voice doesn’t work on me.”

_“Minghao—”_

“_Ice. Cold.”_

Of course, the words don’t go unnoticed. Of course, Wonwoo can’t just be another faceless passerby who respects other people’s conversations because, hey, fun fact, privacy is a human right and Wonwoo should respect that. He doesn’t.

God, he feels nervous. Why is he nervous? He shouldn’t be nervous. It’s not like all his life decisions up to this point have probably somehow led him here in one of the most statistically unlikely of meetings, but if that _is_ the case then maybe—

“Chocolate or vanilla?”

“It’s okay, I can pay for myself.”

“_Pick_, hoe.”

“Okay, _okay_, stop looking at me like that. Um, how about…”

Maybe—

“Hey,” Wonwoo blurts, out of the blue, a little out of breath because you know he dashed to the ice cream freezers even though they never seem to have ice yogurts and it always drives Wonwoo insane.

Then he sees what he’s up against, and he goes just a little bit more insane.

“You,” Wonwoo manages to get out. “Are you the one doing the rain thing? Outside?”

Attached to a tall, ten mile-legged chap is a pair of eyes that stare back at Wonwoo like he’d recited the words of the second coming of Jesus. The eyes—_god_they’re dark—are wide, unblinking, filtering through a million and one emotions with every passing second and Wonwoo can recognize all of them because he’s feeling the exact same way.

The guy looks out. It’s not raining anymore. In fact, it’s clear, just like any normal day.

He looks back.

“I, I, uh,” the guy splutters. _Tan?_ Wonwoo blearily notes. “Are you— the sun thing, um—”

“Wonwoo,” and Wonwoo sticks out his hand, startling everyone in the vicinity with atypical straightforwardness. He thinks he hears Jun gasp.

The guy’s face colors. “I’m, my name, it’s—”

“Mingyu,” says Mingyu’s friend, who shoves Mingyu forward with so much force that he almost topples Wonwoo over.

Wonwoo holds Mingyu steady by his shoulders—_broad_. Noted. Fuck.

It’s fine. It’s awkward. It’s _fine._

“We need to talk,” Wonwoo says, voice as level as a hanging picture frame that’s just barely slightly off and it’s tremendously unnerving the more you stare at it. No one notices. Hopefully.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, stepping back a little, sighing. Is that relief? Disappointment? Wonwoo really wants to know but he also really doesn’t. “Yeah, yes, talk. Should do that.”

That was almost a full sentence. You know what that is? Progress.

Turns out Minghao and Jun knew each other from some Chinese summer camp a while back. Maybe it’s a smaller world than Wonwoo thinks.

Minghao and Jun have departed for the shitty takeout place a couple blocks down (and, in turn, leave Jihoon and Soonyoung for dead back at Jun’s apartment). They both assured their weather-cursed companions that they’d only be a text away if their conversation starts, uh, making hurricanes or something. Knowing Jun, though, it’s highly doubtful that Wonwoo’s self-proclaimed personal 911 has been trained for speed. Or actual concern.

And so, Wonwoo and Mingyu have been abandoned at the little seating area near the hot water dispensers and microwave. No one else is there but the cashier, who is very much occupied with a porno magazine. Lovely.

“So you bring rain with you, huh?” Wonwoo attempts at conversation. It’s a poor attempt, like Lowest Economic Bracket Possible-poor attempt. But it’s a start.

“Yeah, I do,” Mingyu says. His excitement has increased exponentially in the past five minutes. “Been a thing since I was born, I think.”

“Sweet. Same.” Wonwoo sips on his near-empty water bottle. “With the sunlight, I mean, or whatever.”

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Wonwoo nearly slaps himself. _The sun thing, dipshit._

“The sun thing,” Mingyu says more kindly. “Is it nice?”

Is Wonwoo imagining things, or is Mingyu actually vibrating? He might phase through the barstools at this rate.

“Well, I don’t have to wear a rain coat or rain boots. Lots of vitamin D, which I guess is important.”

“Then how are you so…pale?”

Wonwoo is, miraculously, rendered speechless. Another awkward beat passes before Mingyu slaps (actually _slaps_) a hand to his mouth and bows his head so fast Wonwoo worries he might have snapped his neck. Mingyu’s eyes are also scrunched tight. Rather cutely, at that.

“Ihnore mrrh, ehrm shtupid,” is his muffled follow-up. “Shmrry.”

Wonwoo can’t help a chuckle. The only thing stupid about this guy is how stupidly adorable he is.

“If you must know,” Wonwoo says, “My beautiful, delicate porcelain skin is the product of dressing for UV levels equivalent to walking on the surface of the sun, as well as wearing an entire vat of sunscreen daily because, unlike some people, I don’t tan—I _burn_.”

Mingyu snorts and looks up, through some long-ass eyelashes, at Wonwoo. His gaze rakes over Wonwoo’s unforgiving ensemble of Morticia Adam’s secret Korean love child.

“I believe that,” Mingyu says.

“As an equally stupid person,” offers Wonwoo, “I have to ask: how are _you_ so tanned?”

“Genetics? I’m not good at being witty.”

“Nah, I’m not witty. Just sarcastic and deprived of normal human conversation.”

“Really?” Mingyu says, eyebrows raised. “If it’s any consolation, I can hardly tell.”

He’s smiling. He’s _smiling_. Is Wonwoo smiling, too? He better be because that was smooth as hell and Wonwoo can certainly appreciate some sneaky, silky turns of phrase.

“Your friend earlier. Minghao,” Wonwoo says, “Just curious, but how does he know about your curse? Did you tell him or—”

Mingyu suddenly barks a laugh and the cuteness multiplies tenfold, a hundredfold, a _million_fold. The more he does it, the more Wonwoo realizes how perfect “bark” was to describe it because this man is a giant, friendly pup in human form and that’s not the furry in Wonwoo talking—wait, no. What? (Also would that be a reverse-furry? A fleshy? Ew, gross, burn it, never mind.)

“A curse. So that’s—_ha_, sorry, _sorry_—so that’s what you call it.” The words dribble between softening chuckles. Wonwoo’s heart jumps. “I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Oh, I forgot to ask, do you do tarot card readings? I’ve also been meaning to get my palm read.”

Wonwoo punches Mingyu’s arm, which does absolutely nothing to Mingyu other than make him laugh harder. Wonwoo ends up wondering how someone could look so slim yet feel so…dense. God, he’s such a creep. Mingyu must have grown up smiling through the misery of constant rainstorms, only to meet his sunshine counterpart who ends up being one of those sketchy people you _definitely_ shouldn’t give your personal information to unless you want to financially support the vaguely-named bankrupt African prince in all those spam emails.

Although, Wonwoo wouldn’t mind a phone number. He doesn’t ask for it. Yet.

“Well then, what do _you_ call it, asshole?” asks Wonwoo, doing his best to looked miffed, which is to say not very convincing.

“Mom called it a condition,” Mingyu answers. “Then I watched a Bob Ross video once and started calling it a happy accident.”

“You or the rain thing?”

“Now who’s the asshole, asshole?”

“_Happy_ accident, right?”

Mingyu isn’t barking, but he’s _giggling_ now. The duality is strong in this one, chief.

“I suppose ‘happy accident’ still works,” Mingyu says, eyes very much fixed on Wonwoo, which, in effect, nearly stabs Wonwoo in the chest with the power of sincerity. “To actually answer your question, Minghao’s an observant guy. It wasn’t hard for him to figure out that the reason he couldn’t play football for a week was because I got rejected by a girl. Constant rain’s a little harder to hide than constant sun, too, but that’s just my opinion. How about you and Jun?”

“Jun, I had to straight up draw a diagram. Twice. Somehow. My other friends figured it out on their own, though, because they have more than two and a half brain cells. Middle school ended up being sunburns every hour and them helping me put sunscreen on my back.”

“Oh, so is your condition just constant? Mine’s a baseline cloudy day, and then the rain starts when I’m sad or angry—particularly emotional, but, like, in a bad way. The teen years weren’t so fun.”

“Oof, that's rough. Mine’s like how you expect the sun to operate, I guess. Just unceasing waves of dry, intensely hot heat. Hot heat? You’d think after twenty-two years, I’d be better at explaining this.”

“I’m twenty-one! I should call you hyung, then.”

Wonwoo is suddenly flustered. “I, ah—”

Mingyu blinks. “No?”

Damn it, that’s convincing.

“It’s fine,” Wonwoo relents, a novel tightness to his throat. “Hyung is fine.”

“Yay! Hyung, so, about your happy accident—”

“Stop—”

“Curse then—”

“_Stop—”_

They don’t—stop talking, that is.

They continue to discuss their experiences growing up with their so called “curses” and swap dozens of stories about their unfortunate weatherly adventures:

There’s the time little Mingyu nearly died from a mudslide in elementary school because he cried when a kid tagged him as “it” in a game of tag.

Wonwoo almost always ends up with half a tomato face when he forgets to pull the car blinds down.

Mingyu’s sister made him mad on purpose so she could do a science project on rainwater.

Then Wonwoo’s friends, your neighborhood friendly idiots, tried to turn Wonwoo into a tanning business, which, _surprise,_ didn’t work because they’re in _Asia_, of all places, the longest-running stronghold of historical infrastructures that systematically discriminate against the darker spectrum of skin colors because they’ve become proxies for lesser socioeconomic and institutional statuses. Also, skin cancer? Duh? Terrible marketing ploy.

“Huh,” Mingyu says, scratching his head and slightly messing up his deep, honey hair—_no_, Wonwoo isn’t obsessed with it. “Should I be worried, then? The job market is notoriously difficult to break into these days.”

“With all that? Nah.”

“All what?”

_“That.”_

Wonwoo iterates with a sweeping wave of his hand pointing to all of Mingyu because what else is Wonwoo supposed to do? Draw a diagram, too? Surely, Mingyu owns a mirror, or has heard himself speak, and has, at some point, realized that still loving his little sister after letting her incense him for a school assignment is something normal people just don’t do.

Well, Wonwoo supposes they’ve both foregone “normal” since the birth registration.

“You’re so funny, hyung,” Mingyu says, cheek pressed against the knuckles he’s resting his face on.

Based on Mingyu’s forearms (which Wonwoo is _not_ fixated on, either), Wonwoo gathers (in an _objective _manner) that there isn’t an ounce of body fat on Mingyu, so a little baby squish on the face is reassuring. Of what? Nothing, stop asking.

“Thank you,” says Mingyu. “Really. That was really nice of you to say. Er, motion? Gesture?”

Wonwoo nods. “Those words are synonymous, yes.”

Mingyu giggles again. It’s like the sound equivalent of wrapping yourself in soft, scratchy wool.

“So,” says Mingyu, “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to, you know, have the rain? Instead of the sunshine?”

“I’m not exactly Mr. Congeniality,” sighs Wonwoo. “What I have doesn’t feel like it belongs to the right person.”

“How so?”

“As Charlie Chaplin, and don’t cite-shame me on this, may or may not have said: ‘I always like walking in the rain, so no one can see me crying.’”

“That’s…sad.”

“My mom told me that it’s healthy to cry and be sad, so I don’t mind it,” Wonwoo continues, picking at the loose threads in his pants after doing a swell job of turning a great conversation on its head, _dumbass_. “Outside the sunburns, it can be hard to feel properly sad when it’s summer all the time, you know? I’ve never had a plant not die on me from overheating. I’ve never spent a rainy day snuggled up with a book or hot tea. I don’t know what it smells like after a rainstorm. I don’t— I read about that stuff a lot, I guess.”

“You like books?”

“Ah, yes, I do.”

“What’s your favorite? Or, if that’s hard to answer, favorite author, maybe?”

“Milan Kundera,” Wonwoo quickly divulges. “I love all his works, but I think I’ve read _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_ at least five times already. I know that book like the back of my hand. I don’t agree with everything he writes, but the prose is still incredibly beautiful and heart-wrenching and can still make you feel so _light_—roll credits, I guess—oh, and, and—”

Mingyu’s smile widens.

Wonwoo falters. “What?”

“I think the sun fits you just fine,” says Mingyu. It sounds so simple, so easy, that Wonwoo almost believes him.

Wonwoo’s fingers curl into his palms. He feels incredibly warm—in a good way, for once.

“H-How about you?” Wonwoo says, physically tearing his eyes away. “Have you ever wanted to have sunshine instead of rain? Surely, you’ve thought about it.”

“I have,” Mingyu admits. He swings his legs back and forth under their barstool table, staring at the bare wall beside them. “I’ve broken so many umbrellas and gone through so many boots. I don’t even know if I have any other shoes at this point.”

Wonwoo looks down and, oh, Mingyu _is_ wearing rain boots, a pair of black and nondescript ones that seem rather new despite the scruff on the heels. Wonwoo had expected something more...colorful, maybe? Given the personality wearing them.

“At one point, I couldn’t bear it. I was so tired.” The words sound apologetic. Wonwoo can’t begin to explain how. “There have been so many play dates and actual dates and plane trips that were rained out because of me. For years, I prayed every night for it to stop. Never did. But then I grew up a little and realized it wasn’t so bad.”

“Why was that?”

“For all the things you mentioned. Plus singing in the rain is really, _really_ fun.”

“You sing?”

“Not at all.”

Wonwoo laughs.

“And, believe it or not, I also read. Here’s a quote for a quote,” Mingyu says, grinning again. “‘If I were the rain that joins sky and earth that otherwise never touch, could I join two hearts as well?’ I thought that was nice.”

“Wow, that really is ni— wait. _Wait.”_ Wonwoo narrows his eyes because, _because,_ “I— did you— were my heartstrings just played like a guitar before getting hit with a fucking line from fucking _Bleach_?”

“I don’t know, is it working?”

“Like _hell_ it is.”

Just when Wonwoo is about to wring Mingyu into a chokehold because that’s the only way Mingyu can make up for the worst thing that’s actually ever happened to Wonwoo in his life, something booms in the distance. Like thunder. _Is _thunder.

“Is that,” Wonwoo says, hands precariously hovered around Mingyu’s neck. “Is that because of you? I promise I wasn’t actually gonna cut off your circulation or anything.”

“Ah, no, that’s not me this time,” says Mingyu. “That’s just the natural weather.”

“It was going to storm today?”

“It’s been like that for a while, actually.”

“Well, shit.”

Wonwoo follows Mingyu to the front of the convenience store, where they’re met with a hard, pelting torrent of rain like the collateral damage of Typhoon Maemi, or the onslaught of her younger cousin, Haemi, who’s slightly less quick to anger but still pretty annoyed all the time.

“I’m guessing you can’t stop that,” says Mingyu.

“Not when it’s that strong,” says Wonwoo.

“Any texts from Jun?”

“Ubered home a while ago with Minghao to play Smash.”

“Oh, he has a Switch?”

“Yeah, it’s really cool. He’s got has Zelda stickers on it.”

“That’s dope.”

“Yeah.”

The cashier hasn’t moved an inch. The greasy porn magazine is still in his hands. Wonwoo doesn’t want to check if the guy is still alive because the idea of being trapped in a confined space with a potentially dead person-slash-zombie who _might_ have a boner doesn’t exactly sound appealing. Trapped in a confined space with Mingyu, on the other hand—yeah, nope, not even cute guys can make Wonwoo feel better in a spontaneous escape room devoid of the egregiously pretentious puzzle-solving.

“Hey,” Wonwoo chimes in all of a sudden. Man, is the adrenaline pumping today or what? “Do you mind if I try something?”

“You’re not going to try and strangle me again, are you?”

“Not with someone else watching.”

“Gotcha, cool— uh, not that I’m into that or anything—”

Wonwoo hooks his fingers onto the back of Mingyu’s neck and pulls until their lips meet.

An ill-planned idea, in retrospect, what with the very confused and potentially non-consenting hot dude Wonwoo is smacking lips with right now. This is a lesson for everyone out there to be absolutely transparent about how you’ve been thinking about kisses, and about wanting kisses, and then about doing those kisses, especially with a handsome person (or people—you do you, boo) whom you’ve known for a record-breaking couple of hours.

But it's all okay, thank god, because Mingyu starts kissing back, careful and still a little puzzled but explorative and curious to learn and it’s just the cutest fucking thing Wonwoo has ever come to realize this many times over. Mingyu melts into Wonwoo, wraps his arms around Wonwoo’s neck while Wonwoo’s hands steady Mingyu’s eager waist with ease.

Mingyu’s lips curl into a smile, _that_ smile, which Wonwoo can already map out just by feel and that makes _him_ smile, too, and—shit, dare Wonwoo say it? Dare he utter the word “destiny” for realsies because mayhaps this is what this is? (He would’ve gone with “statistical anomaly,” honestly, but that doesn’t sound nearly as nice.)

Mingyu pulls away and, for a moment, Wonwoo panics. Sure, they could use a little oxygen, but Mingyu didn’t seem unopposed to the idea earlier—

“Hyung,” Mingyu breathes. “Look.”

Wonwoo turns to look at what Mingyu’s talking about and—hey, wow, would you look at that? There’s a giant, magnificent rainbow in the sky, glittering rather magically from the way the sunlight hits the water still suspended in the air. If that’s not the most appropriate omen for what just transpired, and what could potentially transpire in the future, then maybe Wonwoo’s life is just a lie. Hopefully not, because Mingyu seems pretty damn real right now and is just too cute to skip out on.

Yes, Wonwoo has overused “cute” so much that it’s stopped being a word at this point. Sue him. (Please don’t.)

“Not that I don’t think you’re lovely, because I do,” Mingyu says, arms resting on Wonwoo’s shoulders, “But didn’t you say that you couldn’t stop the rain?”

“You said that the rain gets worse when you’re smad—which is sad and mad, Mr. I Read I Promise,” Wonwoo says. It gets him a punishment face smushing, which he’s all about if this is what their version of BDSM is going to be like. “I thought that, maybe, you know, if I started feeling especially happy or something, the sun would get stronger and shoo the rain away?”

“We’re menaces to the weather prediction business,” Mingyu mumbles happily against Wonwoo’s hair. “Hey, you know how I said that I realized the rain thing isn’t so bad?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m starting to think that it’s a pretty great thing.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I got to meet you.” There’s a dangerous gleam to Mingyu’s eyes. “I guess you could say that this was—”

“Please, Mingyu, no—”

“—a _happy accident.”_

The cashier kicks them out for public indecency and attempted murder. They end up going to Wonwoo’s place to play switch—though perhaps not the sticker-covered kind that Jun has.

Between the doorway touches to couch canoodling to bed kisses that feel as wonderful as, if you can believe it, being on Cloud Nine, Wonwoo has an auspicious revelation:

“Shitty joke for a shitty joke,” he breathes next to Mingyu’s lips, legs around his torso, hands braced against the headboard. They’re still clothed, don’t worry, “Does this mean that, when you’re smad, you’re…under the weather?”

“Word play,” Mingyu growls and—okay—_now _his shirt’s off, “That’s fucking _lit,”_ and then he’s toppling over Wonwoo, who does nothing to stop it this time around. He still holds onto Mingyu's shoulders, though. They’re really great.

Suffice to say, the weather that evening ends up being nothing like what the forecast predicted.

**Author's Note:**

> Puns not included but are there in spirit:  
“I’d be in the dark without you.” “Then stay there, I’m getting food.”  
“I’ll always come for you, rain or shine!” “Was that sexual?” “Do you want it to be?”  
“Is your head in the clouds?” “No, but it could be in your mou—” “You’re dead to me.”
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!
> 
> [tumblr](https://aijee.tumblr.com)


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